


Nach uns die Sintflut

by Polarstern (Gelaecter)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelaecter/pseuds/Polarstern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ludwig is a young Special Agent trying to advance his career, until someone he once knew throws his entire life into disarray. Gilbert is just trying to survive in a rough world when he finds himself in trouble far deeper than even he can get himself out of and seeks help from someone he thinks he can trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nach uns die Sintflut

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Germanfest event on Tumblr
> 
> Part 1 is pretty much all set up with a side of info dump, I apologize - I'll add more character/pairing tags as they become necessary (although I'm only tagging major players, because no one likes walls of tags or finding out the character you wanted to see is barely in the fic). 
> 
> Detective Grimaldi = Monaco  
> Willem Meijer = The Netherlands  
> Matthias = Denmark
> 
> Please note that I know bugger all about proper police procedure so just go with it

Five years ago, if someone had asked Ludwig why he’d joined the academy, and where he wanted it to take him, the answer would have been easy. Ludwig, at his core, wanted to help people. He had seen many things in his young years, terrible things, and he only wished to prevent more people from falling through the same cracks as many of people he’d know. He’d seen, perhaps very naively, law enforcement as a guardian angel of sorts, a well oiled machine working within the law to bring light to the dark areas of society. He’d learned quickly that this wasn’t so much the case, but he still believed in the overall rightness of it. He’d envisioned himself working hard, dotting every I and crossing every T to rise through the ranks, creating order and stamping out corruption. He saw a long and decorated career, and a late retirement.

He would say he was a man of great integrity and honesty, and tireless in his pursuit of perfection. He was incorruptible.

Sometimes he wondered if the past few weeks had made him a liar. Sometimes he wondered whether it was even more true now than it had been.

And sometimes he wondered if it even mattered any more, if he’d been changed in some fundamental way that was impossible to reconcile.

Justice, these past few weeks had taught him, was relative. Corruption was in the eye of the beholder.

There was the soft rustling of sheets as the figure on the bed shifted restlessly. His face was lined with exhaustion, dark circles under his eyes standing out starkly against his pale skin.

“Lud?” he murmured softly, reaching out to where Ludwig had been lying only minutes before.

“Go back to sleep, Gilbert,” Ludwig replied. Gilbert blinked at him for a moment before curling back up and closing his eyes. Ludwig resisted the urge to go and lie back down next to him, wrap himself around him, and forget his worries, at least for a little while.

He could see the bite mark on the back of his neck, and he knew if he lifted the sheets he’d find more evidence. Evidence of what he’d done – what they’d done. Things that would probably get him thrown out of the force should anyone ever find out.

Did it make him corrupt? Ludwig didn’t think so. He was still serving the law, he just had a different story to the rest of them, a different method.

And even though there was no way he could justify what he’d done last night, did he regret it? No. And that was probably the most terrifying part.

To explain how Ludwig had gone from a model officer, promoted early into an important unit and trusted with his boss’ most top secret assignment, to sneaking around behind the backs of his team mates and superiors and harbouring a criminal (and not just a criminal, a _suspect_ ) in his bed is going take a long time, so perhaps it’s best if we start at the beginning.

No, not the beginning. To be honest, Ludwig could never say for sure exactly were this began. It was certainly bigger than himself, and it was possible that the seeds of his own involvement hadn’t been planted long before he was aware of them. There was far to much he didn’t know – perhaps would never know.

Let’s start in the middle.

***

“ _You do something with your life, alright kid? Just promise me that, okay.”_  


 

“Hey probie, got a crime scene to check out. You’re with me on this one.”

Special Agent Alfred “Or Al, but not Fred please no seriously Lizzy stop calling me that” Jones sat down haphazardly on the edge of Ludwig’s desk, knocking over a pen holder and scattering the contents all over the desk. Ludwig winced.

“…Crime scene?” he replied, eyebrow raised.

Ludwig had been working for the Organised Crime Task force for just over five months, hand-picked off the beat by Assistant Director Kirkland himself. He was the youngest detective they’d ever had, and he’d worked hard to prove he was worth it, but so far he’d never done anything but observe other people’s cases and have paperwork shoved on him by busier (or so they claimed) team members. He’d never been sent on the field.

“Yeah, they found a body down by the river, think it might be one of ours. Apparently it’s pretty brutal, so I hope you have a strong stomach!”

“Why are they sending me?” Jones’ partner, Special Agent Elizabeta “I’ll stop calling you Fred when you stop calling me Lizzy, twerp” Héderváry was confined to her desk after breaking her ankle in a bike accident (which she’d complain about loudly several times a day at least), but there were plenty of capable agents available.

“Orders from the bossman, guess it’s just your lucky day.” Jones checked his watch. “Hurry up, they won’t wait forever.” He slid off the desk, scattering more pens. Ludwig just eyed them for a moment and sighed, grabbing his bag and his jacket and hurrying to keep up with Jones.

“Try not to scare the kid too badly,” Héderváry yelled across the bullpen, “And grab me some coffee on the way back!” Jones waved a hand at her and turned to Ludwig.

“We’ll take my car.”

  
  


It was late afternoon when they arrived at the crime scene and the air was starting to cool, but there was still traces of heat. They parked the car at the end of a cul-de-sac, where a short, stern looking detective was waiting for them.

“You Kirkland’s guys?” she asked tersely

“That’s us,” replied Jones as the both showed her their badges. “I’m Special Agent Jones, this is Agent Beilschmidt.”

She nodded, adjusting her glasses. “Detective Grimaldi. Please, follow me.”

She lead them through a narrow lane between two large houses, coming out onto a steep hill leading down to the river.

“Man, this area’s pretty swanky,” Jones commented with a whistle. Ludwig just grunted in response.

“He hasn’t been here long,” Grimaldi said, “Since early this morning most likely, he was spotted by some rowers about two hours ago. No ID, but he had a blank business card for the White Rose. That sound familiar to you?” Her tone suggested she already knew the answer – White Rose was well known hotbed for all kinds of illegal activity, but more importantly the owner was well acquainted with many of the elements that were under surveillance by the OCT (although they’d never been able to prove he was involved in anything more). If you were seen at the White Rose, there was a reasonably high chance you are too.

“Sure does,” Jones replied, peering down to where they could just see the shape of the body being poked at and photographed by several other officers, “Looks like they rolled him down the hill.”

“That’s our guess, we think they carried him down the lane and just tossed him from the top of the hill and hoped he go in the water.” She snorted derisively. “There are no clear tracks up here unfortunately, or blood splatter.”

“I thought he was stabbed, like, a lot.”

“Yes, but he wasn’t killed here,” she said, giving him a look, “and he’d already been dead for a little while before they dragged him down here, so it wasn’t like he was still bleeding. They wrapped him in a quilt anyway, go see for yourself.”

Jones started down the hill recklessly, half walking half sliding, and one of the CSI’s gave him a dirty look. Ludwig eyed the steep hill nervously for a moment before cautiously following, Detective Grimaldi right behind him.

The body was sprawled out on the bank with his feet in the water, half twisted up inside a thick quilt. He was almost completely covered in blood. Ludwig covered his mouth with his shirt to keep from gagging at the metallic smell, although no one else seemed to care.

Jones walked around the other side and knelt down to take a look at the body.

“Let’s see…”

“Do you recognise him?” Ludwig asked

“Give me a sec, would ya?” He clicked his tongue. “There’s a lot of… Oh, _shit._ ”

“What?”

He lifted his head, wide eyes meeting Ludwig’s. “It’s Rossetti.”

Oh, _shit_.

“You know him?” Grimaldi asked, eyebrow raised.

“He’s a… let’s just call him a person of interest,” replied Jones. “Kirkland is going to be _pissed_.”

“Well, that’s one mystery solved I guess,” she said, “Are you absolutely sure?”

“He’s never been one of my cases, so you should double check of course.” He stood up and brushed dirt off his pants. “I can solve another mystery for you though – His house is right over there.”

  
  


Alberto Rossetti had been under surveillance by the OCT for going on 6 years now. He was a man off expensive tastes and expensive friends – expensive and dangerous, and although they’d collected extensive evidence of he’s dealings with known traffickers and other lowlifes AD Kirkland had never given the go ahead for an arrest.

See, there was more to Rossetti than just a rich man trying to play at being a mobster – he was involved in something much bigger than that. One of Kirkland’s private sources (who that was, no one else knew. Ever since he’d taken over the OCT he’d made sure everything was under his complete control – his team answered to him and him alone, and though he answered to the Director he’d shown no hesitation in going around his back when necessary. His dedication was matched only by his paranoia) had reported that Rossetti had a close and personal relationship with a faceless man known only as Il Lupo.

Kirkland had no interest in little fish, he just hoped they’d lead him to bigger ones.

And Il Lupo was one big and extremely slippery fish.

  
  


From the outside the house looked completely calm and normal. Jones walked off to call and report in to Kirkland, and Grimaldi made him wait outside while the scene was cleared – leaving Ludwig to stand awkwardly on the curb until she came back, looking a little paler than before.

“Scene’s clear, no more bodies but you may want to cover your mouth.”

The smell hit him almost as soon as he went through the door, the thick, metallic scent of blood that was far stronger than it had been on the river bank. This was because it was _everywhere_ – it was splattered across the walls and floor of the kitchen, while the majority of it was pooled by the door into the living room, with drag marks leading out of the room. Ludwig momentarily forgot not to breath deeply and barely made it back outside in time to retch in a bush. He heard a chuckle beside him and turned his face away, cheeks blazing.

“Bit rough in there?” Jones said, “Don’t worry, happens to all of us at least once.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Kirkland wants us to go get a quick look at the scene first hand, then go in and give him a full report tomorrow once some of the forensics come back. Think you can go back in?”

Ludwig nodded and composed himself, taking a deep breath. Something caught the corner of his eye and he turned to see a car idling on the other side of the road, someone sitting in the drivers seat. The car was a beat up old Volkswagen, rust showing under chipped black paint. Extremely out of place in this neighbourhood. Ludwig’s eyes narrowed.

“Hey, you coming?”

Ludwig startled and turned back towards the house where Jones was standing, looking at him expectantly.

“Yes, of course.” He shot another glace at the car before following Jones back inside.

“Man, someone really went to town of him,” said Jones with a whistle. Grimaldi shot him a look. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that this is where he died.”

“Stunning observation,” she replied.

“Hey, I try.” He grinned, and then turned back to the scene. “Seriously though, yikes. He really pissed somebody off” He tilted his head. “I’ll wait for the forensics on both scenes tomorrow. I’ll give you my number so you can call me if anything really important shows up – or, you know, just to say hi.” He grinned, and Grimaldi rolled her eyes. He turned to Ludwig. “Come one, it’s late. I’ll grab us a food on the way back, my treat.”

Ludwig nodded and followed him back out onto the street, wondering how he could possibly be hungry after standing in that room. As they walked back to the car, he glanced over to where the VW had been sitting earlier, but it was gone. He frowned.

“Something the matter?”

“No… no, I’m sure it’s nothing.”

 

 

Assistant Director Arthur Kirkland paced back and forth in front of the whiteboard, a frustrated expression on his face.

“All that work wasted,” he muttered, “Fucking hell.” He rubbed his face. “Is Honda back with that surveillance footage yet?”

“He and Liz were just finishing up,” Jones replied from where he was bouncing a small rubble ball against the wall repeatedly. “Said they’d found something.”

“Good, good,” He looked back up at the whiteboard, which was covered in images of the now dead Rossetti and his various “business” partners. Ludwig was flipping through the thick case file trying to familiarise himself a bit more with the man.

There was a bang as Héderváry pushed open the door to the meeting room with one of her crutches and hobbled in, followed by a short man carrying a thin folder.

“Kiku, hope you’ve got something good for us” said Jones, spinning his chair around to face them. Special Agent Kiku Honda handed the folder to Kirkland, who began flipping through pictures inside.

“Alright.” He flipped the folder shut. “Lets start from the beginning. What did forensics tell us about that night.”

Jones flipped open the thick file one the table in front of him and starting flicking through the report. “Coroner gave his time of death at approximately 23.30 Monday night, cause of death _twenty-seven stab wounds_ to the chest and stomach.” He whistled. “As well as several cuts on his hands and forearms, likely from trying to defend himself. Bled out and probably lay on the floor where he fell for a good two or three hours before he was moved. There are bloody foot and hand prints around, but someone scrubbed them well enough that they couldn’t get clear print. He was then dragged into the living room and wrapped in a quilt from the couch, carried outside and thrown down the bank. Based on all this they’ve guess there was most likely there were two or three people involved.” He snapped the file shut. “That’s a summary of what they have so far. We’ll get more as they keep processing the scene, it’s a real doozy.”

“Okay, and do we have any idea about the motive?”

“Based on what we know of Rossetti he had quite a few enemies,” Ludwig said, “Ex business partners, that sort of thing. Or maybe he was moving in on someone else’s area territory and they sent someone to take him out. “ He paused. “I doubt that thought.”

“And why’s that?”

“He was violently stabbed twenty-seven times. There’s too much emotion in that for it to have been a professional, and the disposal of the body was clear the work of amateurs since they didn’t bother to even cover it properly. Possibly they just panicked.”

Kirkland’s mouth twitched in approval.

“Lover then maybe?” Héderváry said, “Doesn’t he have an ex-wife?”

“She doesn’t give a shit about him though,” said Jones, “They’ve been separated for about two years, she’s off on a spa retreat in Italy or something right now anyway. As for lovers…” He wrinkled his nose. “He generally preferred paying for the pleasure – he had a preference for men and women of the, ah, suspiciously young-looking variety.”

“I believe I may be able to shed some light on this,” said Honda. He opened his own file. “We haven’t had Rossetti under active surveillance for the past few months, however we have several cameras in position outside the house and I was able to obtain footage from that night.” He pulled out several photos and spread them on the desk. “Rossetti returned home at 11pm, but he wasn’t alone.” H pointed to one of the photos – Rossetti exiting his car, followed by a dark-haired man of middling height and slender build, unfortunately it was impossible to make out his face in the darkness. “The enter the house, and we see nothing again until just past 1.30am-”

“And Rossetti died during that time.”

“Yes, and I think it’s safe to assume that the man seen accompanying him is the killer. At 1.30, another man arrives, following shortly by another.” Two photos, one of blonde man running into the house, and one of a man climbing out of a black car. Ludwig started.

“I think… I think that car was at the crime scene yesterday,” he said uncertainly, picking up the photograph.

“What?” said Kirkland sharply. “Are you sure?”

“They look very similar… I’m sorry, I didn’t get the registration. I should have paid more attention…”

“You couldn’t have known it might be important, Ludwig,” replied Honda

“Yeah, don’t go to hard of yourself,” said Jones, “If you start thinking every person on the street is a possible suspect you’ll end up a paranoid old coot like Eyebrows.”

“Yes, thank you _Alfred_ ,” replied Kirkland venomously. “Lets move on.”

Honda cleared his throat. “Both men go into the house. About thirty minutes later they come back out-” He points to a series of photos of the two men, this time with their faces completely covered, carrying something large wrapped in a blanket – they didn’t need to be told what that was. “-and then they go back inside the house for a few minutes before all three men leave.”

The last photo he pulled out showed three men walking out of the house. One of the men had large dark splotches on his clothes, obvious even in the darkness, and he was being heavily supported by the blonde man. Neither of their faces were visible to the camera. The third man was a few steps ahead of them, his face turned directly toward the camera, face shadowed but visible.

“Have we got an ID on him?” asked Kirkland, pointing.

“Not yet,” replied Honda, “I’ve got Eduard working on getting a clearer image and then we can cross reference him with known associates of Rossetti’s. I’ve also sent a copy to Detective Grimaldi’s team to see if they can find a match.”

Kirkland made a face. It was no secret how much he hated working with outsiders.

“Can we take a break, I’m hungry,” Jones butted in.

“You’re always hungry,” said Héderváry, rolling her eyes

“I think a break would do us good,” said Honda, “We can’t do much until we know more.”

“Yes, yes,” said Kirkland. “Go on then.”

“You too, Eyebrows,” said Jones, but Kirkland waved him off and went back to look at the files. Jones looked like he was going to say more but was interrupted by his phone going off and ducked out to take the call. Héderváry stood up carefully and nudged Honda with her crutch.

“Come on, Kiku, I feel like Gino’s for lunch and I owe you a granita,” she said. He nodded and turned to Ludwig.

“Would you like to join us?”

Ludwig blinked in surprise. “Oh, uh, that would be lovely. Thank you.”

They were on their way out when Jones came jogging up to them.

“Ludwig, Hey!” He was grinning excitedly. “Sorry guys, I’m going to have to steal him from you for a bit.” Honda nodded, and Héderváry just mouthed ‘Next time!’ as the two of them continued out the door. “I just got off the phone with Jeanne-”

“Who?”

“You know, Hot Lady Detective, where have you been? Anyway, they found the murder weapon in the back yard, found a print and guess what? It matches our man on the tape.”

“They’ve ID’d him?” A thrill of excitement went through him.

“Yep! They’re going to pick him up in an hour, she gave me the address so we’ll need to hurry and get over there if we want to see it go down. She said you should come too.” He all but ran out of the building, Ludwig right behind him.

  
  


The area the found themselves in couldn’t be more different than the street where Rossetti had died. Most houses looked like they’d barely been lived in for at least a decade - shattered windows, chipped paint and crumbling roofs, but Ludwig could still feel the prickle of watching eyes as they approached the address they’d been given.

“That the car you saw?”

Ludwig glanced at where Jones was pointing; a rusty black VW was sitting on the curb across the road from the house police were currently surrounding.

“Yes it is,” Ludwig replied as they climbed out of their own car and went to join Detective Grimaldi as she was walking up to the front door.

“Good timing, boys,” she said before knocking heavily on the front door. “Mr Beilschmidt, this is the police.” Ludwig glanced at her, startled, and Jones raised and eyebrow at him. “Please open the door.”

There was long silence before she knocked again, louder. “Mr Beilschmidt, we know you’re in there, please do not make us use force.”

There was a sudden commotion around the back of the house and another officer yelled out. They rushed back there to see a man fighting viciously against the officers attempting to restrain him, spitting and cursing in a strange mix of German and English.

“Tried to go over the back fence,” said the officer who’d called out. He gestured towards a duffel bag lying nearby. “Looks like we got here just in time too.”

The man on the ground cursed as handcuffs snapped shut around his wrists. He suddenly twisted and sank his teeth into the wrist of one of the men restraining him, who yelped in surprise and fell backwards, releasing him. He lashed out with his foot and kicked another man hard under the knee, but had barely risen off the ground before another office landed hard on his back, knocking the air out of his lungs. He went still, his face pressed into the dirt, gasping.

“Gilbert Beilschmidt, you are under arrest for the murder of Alberto Rossetti,” Grimaldi began

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, lady,” he snarled. The officers pulled him roughly to his feet. He was a few years older than Ludwig, and slightly shorter with a slender build. His skin and hair were both extremely pale, but the strangest thing about him were his odd reddish coloured eyes. He was strangely familiar too, in a way the Ludwig couldn’t place. He struggled vainly against the men holding him, jaw clenched and expression furious.

“We’ll see about that,” she replied. She nodded at the officers and they began dragging him towards the van. They followed quickly behind.

“So, Agent Beilschmidt,” she said, “Any relation?”

“What?” he replied, bewildered. “No! No, it’s just a coincidence.” He glanced over and found a pair of red eyes locked on him, narrowed. He looked away uncomfortably, but could still feel them watching until the other man was shoved roughly in the back of the van.

“Relax, kid,” Grimaldi said. “That’s what I figured. Just thought it would be funny to see the look an your face.” Jones snorted loudly, and Ludwig pursed his lips in annoyance. “You two planning to sit in on the interrogation?”

Jones grinned. “Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

  
  


Beilschmidt was quite when Grimaldi entered the interrogation room, glaring angrily at the table in front of him, occasionally yanking at the handcuffs as if they may be looser than they were five minutes previously. Ludwig stood on the other side of the one-way mirror, watching.

“You should probably just make this easier on yourself and stop playing dumb,” she said, “We know you were there, so why don’t you just go ahead and tell us what you know.”

“Shouldn’t I have a lawyer?” he said after a moment

“One has been assigned to you and will be here shortly. I thought it might be good for us to have a friendly chat first.

“Tell the lawyer to fuck off. You can fuck off too.”

She smiled coldly. “Look. We both know you didn’t kill Rossetti, but you are an accessory and your prints are on the murder weapon, so things are not looking good for you. If you could tell us what happened, and give us the names of your accomplices-” I flash of pure rage flickered across his face at the suggestion. “-perhaps we can come to an arrangement. Maybe for your friends as well.”

Beilschmidt said nothing, the two of them glared at each other over the table for a long moment.

“Very well.” She stood up. “Whenever you’re ready to talk, let me know.” She turned to the officer by the door. “Go ahead and put him back in the holding cell. We’ve got enough to keep him here for a long time.”

“Maybe you should send Agent Tall, Blonde and Humourless in here,” he yelled at her back. “I’ve got a few things I’d like to say to him.” He turned and shot what could only be described as a leer towards the mirror, and Ludwig felt his face heat up. Jones sniggered loudly, and even though Ludwig knew there was no way the other man could see him or even know for sure he was there, he suddenly felt exposed. Grimaldi slammed the door to the interrogation room and walked around to join them.

“Ignore him,” she said, lips pursed in annoyance. “You two should go report in to your boss, I’ll let you know if there’s any progress.”

It was two days before they got any meaningful updates.

Unfortunately the news was… not good.

 

 

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN HE’S NOT IN CUSTODY ANYMORE?”

Grimaldi glared back at Kirkland, her expression of tight fury unchanged even under an onslaught of rage that would make most people break down in terror. Ludwig and Jones stood as far away as they could without leaving the meeting room to avoid being caught in the crossfire.

“When I got back to the precinct this afternoon, I was informed that Gilbert Beilschmidt had been let go without charges, on orders from someone much higher in the chain of command then me who did not have the courtesy to leave any notice as to who or why. Believe me I’m just as mad about this as you, _Assistant Director_.”

“I highly doubt that, _Detective_ ,” Kirkland snapped. “What on Earth would possess _anyone_ to release a dangerous criminal back onto the street, is your entire department _completely incompetent?_ ”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” she said coldly, crossing her arms. “The order came from _your department_.”

“…That’s impossible.”

“That’s what my people are saying.”

The anger had drained out of Kirkland’s expression, replaced by cold suspicion.

“Can you confirm that?”

She paused. “No. But I trust the person who told me.”

“Did they give a name?”

“No. It had to be someone of your level or higher.”

There was a long pause. “If you hear anything else, I want you to come straight to me. Don’t go to your superiors.”

She bristled. “You have no right to-”

“I’m not trying to order you, I’m asking as a favour. You and I both know some thing’s not right here.”

“Why should I trust you?”

"How do you know you can trust anyone else?”

She sighed. “Very well.”

Kirkland nodded. “Good,” he shot a glance at the two of them where the stood by the door. “Now everyone, get out.”

Grimaldi all but stomped out of the room, still radiating a cloud of anger, and they started to follow her until Kirkland’s voice stopped them.

“Not you, Beilschmidt.”

They both froze.

“Boss?” said Jones tentatively.

“Go on, Alfred, I’ll talk to you later.” Jones nodded and walked away. “Come with me, Ludwig.”

He walked briskly out of the meeting room and back to his office, Ludwig entering the room cautiously and giving him an expectant look.

“Close the door,” said an unfamiliar voice. Ludwig jerked his head to the side in surprise and saw a strange man lounging in a chair by the door. He was tall, with spiky, light brown hair and a noticeable scar on his forehead. He gave Ludwig a calculating look, before snorting and turning his attention to Kirkland. Ludwig closed the door quietly.

“This him?”

“Yes. Probationary Agent Ludwig Beilschmidt. Beilschmidt, this is Willem Meijer. He works for me.” The man gave him a quick nod. “I’m going to make this brief, since you really shouldn’t be in this office.” He directed that last part at Meijer, who shrugged.

“Didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“Regardless, the two of you need to be gone before the wrong person sees you.”

“Wrong person?” Ludwig interrupted, but Kirkland just glared at him and continued.

“Willem is the go-between for myself and my informants. One of our most important informants on Il Lupe is due for a check in tonight and you’re going to tag along. Willem will fill you in on the rest in the car.” He waved a hand, as if to dismiss them. “Oh, and one more thing, Beilschmidt.” He leaned across the desk. “This has been the product of many years of hard work, so anything you see or hear tonight, or any other night, should be shared with the people in this room and only the people in this room. No one else. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” replied Ludwig, feeling slightly overwhelmed.

“Good. Now get going.”

 

 

Willem said nothing until they had driven out of sight of their headquarters.

“I have to make a quick stop on the way.”

“Okay.” Ludwig paused. “I’m… a little confused about what exactly we’re doing.”

“What part are you having trouble with?” came the amused response.

“Are you part of the OCT?”

“No, I’m not. I work for Kirkland now, that’s all you really need to know on that front.”

“But if you’re not an Agent… are you an informant then?”

“Not exactly. I handle Kirkland’s informants, they pass their information onto me, I pass it to him, he passes it to you. You see?”

“Why not have us do it though? It seems a little complicated.”

Willem looked serious. “When Kirkland said that the guy we’re going to see is ‘one of our most important informants’, he really meant our _only_ important informant. We’ve got others, but they’re useless when it comes to anything new or worthwhile. He’s the only one who’s managed to get this far in without either losing it or ending up in the river. He lost several undercover agents before he got the two of us in, unofficially – He’s been working his way into Il Lupe’s organisation from the bottom – he’s where most of your good information came from, in the end.”

“Why was he successful, when all the others-” Ludwig stopped. “Someone in the department blew their cover. That’s why nobody else knows about you.”

Willem grunted. “Cleverer than you look.” He pulled up in a side street. “Kirkland doesn’t trust anyone, not completely, and I don’t know why he wanted to bring you in on his, but I’m going to give you one warning - _Do not fuck this up_. If you get us killed, I’ll shoot you myself first.” Ludwig’s eyes widened, and he nodded. Willem opened the door and climbed out of the car. “Wait here.”

He returned several minutes later with a bag containing a warm wrap of some kind. It smelled good, but Ludwig frowned – it seemed like a very strange time to be thinking about that sort of thing. They didn’t speak again until they pulled up outside a cheap motel down a sketchy looking side-street. Willem parked and climbed out, Ludwig following without a word.

He banged on the door of a motel room and waited. A few moments later a voice called out – was that Dutch? Ludwig frowned, and Willem answered in the same language and the door opened, revealing a tall blond man with messy hair, who grinned broadly at them and said something that Ludwig didn’t understand. Willem said something in a low voice, jerking his head towards Ludwig, and the man turned to him.

“Spreek je Nederlands?” Ludwig shook his head. “Sprichst du Deutsch?”

“Ja,” Ludwig replied cautiously

“Sehr gut.” He flashed him a grin, and then continued in his oddly accented German while gesturing them inside. “I don’t mean to be paranoid-” Willem snorted loudly. “-But I’d prefer not to speak English. You never know who’s listening, y’know?”

“Beilschmidt, this is Matthias.” Matthias nodded at him and looked at Willem.

“Did ya bring me anything?” he said, flopping down on the double bed and crossing his bare feet underneath him. Willem tossed him the bag and he pulled out the wrap with a grateful moan. As he tore into it he gestured towards a thin folder sitting on the table. Willem began flipping through it while Matthias turned his attention to Ludwig.

“What’s your story, kid?” he asked between bites,. Sauce dripped down onto his woolen, fingerless gloves, making Ludwig wrinkle his nose in disgust, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Kirkland sent me,” he replied, frowning

“Well no shit.” He threw the last of the wrap in his mouth and licked sauce off his fingers. “but what’d you do to piss him off so much?”

“Nothing, as far as I’m aware,” he replied, confused.

“Just unfortunate then.” Matthias snorted. “God help you.”

“Have you… been undercover a long time,” Ludwig asked cautiously.

“Undercover’s not quite the right word for it, but sure.”

“Is it hard?”

He looked pensive, saying nothing for a moment. “It has it’s moments.” He shrugged. “Not like I’ve got much else going for me though, my family thinks I’m a deadbeat anyway so what do they care if they don’t see me for years.”

“You are a deadbeat,” Willem said flatly.

Matthias raised one hand and flipped him off over his shoulder. “You got any family, Agent Beilschmidt?” Ludwig shook his head.

“Are all of these written in Italian?” Willem asked, staring at the papers in disgust.

“Yep.”

“What the hell are they?”

“I dunno man, I don’t speak Italian.”

“Then what good are they?”

“Kirkland’s got translators, let them figure out whether they’re useful or not. Found them in Gino Bashier’s office, scanned them on that phone you got me.”

“And this is all you have?”

“Hey, I can’t pull new information out of thin air – Il Lupo’s on edge, I can’t get near him and nobody who can is talking.”

“You’d better find something soon or I’m going to make you pay for your own damn dinner.”

“Fuck you, Will. I’m the one who has to worry about waking up to a bullet in the face, the least you could do is bring me a fucking sandwich on occasion.” He sighed and rubbed his neck. “Besides, that’s not why you asked me to come here is it?” The side of his mouth twitched upwards. “It’s been a while, shame the kid has to be here – no offence – but I can be flexible.”

Willem glared at him. “Matthias.”

“Christ, you’re no fun are you.” He sighed again. “Rossetti then.”

“You know about Rossetti?” Ludwig asked.

“Of course,” he said with a snort. “Everybody does. No great loss, if you ask me. .”

“You know who did it?”

“I know who Il Lupo thinks did it, and Gilbert Beilschmidt getting arrested narrowed the suspects down considerably anyway.” He grinned, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “Gilbert doesn’t risk his neck for just anyone. Shame what’s going to happen to him though, he’s a good kid.”

“What do you mean? He’s not in custody anymore.”

“Nope, and I suspect the only reason he’s out instead of dead in his cell is because Il Lupo wants him to flush the other two out from wherever they’re hiding so he can put a bullet in three heads instead of one. My suggestion, give it a day or two then search the river and you’ll have your culprits. ‘Fraid you won’t get much out of them though. Except maybe lead.” He laughed and Ludwig gave him a disapproving look. “Sorry. Il Lupo is pretty mad about it – Rossetti was family even if everyone hated him, and he had enough business connections to keep him in Il Lupo’s graces.”

“Who are the other two people involved?”

“I’m not here to do your job kid, and you’re not going to get to them in time anyway. Besides, like I said, I only know who Il Lupo _thinks_ did it, but they’ll die regardless of whether they’re guilty or not.”

“Then we should help them!”

“What d’you think you’re gonna do exactly?” Matthias snorted. “Do you think Kirkland’s going to step in once he realises that finding them’s not gonna get him any closer to catching Il Lupo – in fact, finding them dead might actually be a better option as far as he’s concerned. The only other thing I can tell you is what you already know – it was purely personal and had nothing to do with business, so it’s not really my concern either.”

“So you don’t care if they die.”

“Like I said.” He was starting to look annoyed. “It’s a shame. They’re not bad people, and Rossetti had it coming, but I have my own neck to watch out for.”

“So that’s it then?”

“That’s it.”

Ludwig was almost vibrating with frustration, but Willem put a hand on his arm to stop him from saying anything else. He took a deep breath and said in a tight voice, “Thank you, officer…?”

“Aww, that’s cute,” Matthias drawled, standing, “He called me _officer_.”

“If you’re an officer then what does that make me?” snorted Willem

“Maybe if I was I’d get paid,” he grumbled. Willem paused suddenly and reached out, pushing the collar of his shirt to the side and rubbing his thumb over a circular bruise on his collarbone. Matthias stilled, then shot a pointed at Ludwig. Willem jerked his hand back and cleared his throat.

“I think that’s all we need,” he said, voice oddly tight. Ludwig kept his face carefully blank.

“Don’t be a stranger, Will,” Matthias said. “Watch yourself, kid.”

“I’ll let you know when we need to meet up again.” He paused looking like he wanted to say something else, before settling on “Eat more, I’m tired of feeding you.”

“Yeah thanks, _Mor_. And bring me some _wienerbrød_ next time, all the stuff near my place is _shit_.”

He slammed the door in their faces. Willem gave Ludwig a searching look, before heading to the car.

As they drove away from the motel, Willem sighed. “Whatever it is you’re dying to say, just go ahead.”

Ludwig stilled. “I don’t mean to be critical of your conduct,” he said carefully. “But I feel I need to question the professionalism of your relationship with-” He cut off as Willem clapped a hand down on his shoulder and squeezed, gently but firmly.

“Look Ludwig,” he said, “You’re new at this, so I’m going to cut you some slack. But here’s a quick lesson for you.”

He leaned in close.

“Mind your own fucking business.”

 

 

A broken elevator and eight flights of stairs put Ludwig in a foul mood by the time he finally dragged himself inside his tiny studio apartment, sighing heavily in exhaustion and tossing his bag down with a soft thud. He went straight to the fridge and then cursed when he realised he was out of beer. Fucking perfect.

“It’s a pretty nice place you got here.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he yelled, spinning around and bashing his knee hard on the edge of the bench. He grimaced in pain and stared at the man sitting on his bed as if it was perfectly normal for him to be there.

“What the fuck? How did you get in here?” He paused, recognising him after a moment. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Ludwig, calm down,” Gilbert said, raising his hands placatingly.  
  


“I’m going to have you arrested.” He fumbled for his phone only to remember it was in his bag, and was suddenly very aware that he was unarmed and grateful that at least the other man seemed to be as well.

“Ludwig, hold on, just hear me out.”

“ _You broke into my apartment._ ”

“I really need your help okay could you just-”

“Why the fuck should I help you! You’re a murderer-”

“Don’t be dramatic, we both know that’s not _entirely_ true.”

“-and a criminal-”

“Well, I can’t argue with that…”

“-and a…” He stared at the bottles on the floor. “Have you been _drinking my beer_?”

“…No?”

Ludwig put his head in his hands. “Get out.” He was far too tired for this.

“Ludwig, hang on…”

“Out.”

“Ludwig, he’ll _kill_ me if-”

“How the fuck do you know my name?” he exclaimed suddenly.

There was a long silence.

“You really don’t remember me at all do you?” He snorted softly, mouth twitching upwards. “I have to say, I’m hurt.”

“We don’t know each other.”

“Really? We have the same last name.”

“Coincidence.”

“No,” Gilbert replied softly, “Because it’s always been _your_ name.”

There was a long pause and then Ludwig backed up slowly until he hit the bench.

“You,” he breathed, finally realising why he seemed so familiar but barely believing it.

“I didn’t know for sure, not at first.” Gilbert stood up and began walking towards him. “But then that bitch detective said your name and I remembered.” He gave him an appreciative once over. “You really have grown up, huh Ludwig.”

Ludwig blushed, but then rage overwhelmed any discomfort.

“Why are you here, Gilbert,” he said coldly, “Why now? Why are you using my name?”

“You gave me permission.”

“That was before you _left._ ”

Gilbert flinched. “I’m sorry. I would have taken you with me that night if I thought you’d be any better off, but I’m glad I didn’t.” He smiled. “I’m sorry it’s been so long, but look at you. You’re doing something with your life, and what am I doing?” He laughed humorlessly. “I’m about to be murdered because of some worthless shitstain who never deserved to live in the first place.”

“Why should I help you?

“You wouldn’t let them kill me, Ludwig,” Gilbert said, confidently. “It’s not who you are.”

“You don’t know me anymore.”

“Nobody changes that much.”

There was another pause, and then Ludwig gave a defeated sigh. Gilbert grinned of triumphantly.

“What do you want from me?” Ludwig said tiredly

“I just need somewhere to hide out until I figure out what to do, okay? I’ll see if I can get you some information in return, something on Il Lupo.”

“Why would you do that?”

“If Il Lupo goes down, I’m safe yeah? Even if I go to prison – you think he doesn’t have people who can take me out in a second no matter where I am?”

“Does he know you’re here?” Cold fear ran down Ludwig’s back.

“No… I lost the people he had following me before I came here.”

“Why should I trust you to keep your word?”

“You know me, Ludwig.”

“I _knew_ you, yes – that’s _why_ I’m not sure if I should trust you or not. No one changes that much, you said it yourself.”

Hurt flashed across Gilbert’s face. “You can arrest me at any point, remember? I think this requires more trust on my part then yours.”

“Fair enough.”

“I’ll make it up to you, okay? I swear – for everything, you know, not just this.”

Ludwig nodded, but he was skeptical.

“Who killed Rossetti?”

Gilbert flinched. “Ludwig, please…”

“How can I trust you if you’re protecting a murderer?”

“He’s not- Look, he’s not dangerous okay, he just couldn’t take it anymore. If anything he did the world a service, he doesn’t deserve to die.” There was a quiet desperation in his voice.

Ludwig considered this for a moment. “The two of you… you’re close?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” Gilbert replied after a moment. “He’s… he’s like my brother okay.”

“So was I, once.”

“I’m sorry, Ludwig.”

“You’ll put neck out like this for him, but you wouldn’t for me.” Ludwig was struggling to keep a decades worth of repressed hurt and anger in check

“Of course I would have, Lud,” he said softly, “You know I would have.”

 _Then why did you leave_ , Ludwig wanted to say, but he held his tongue.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll help you.”

 

TBC

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so this kind of ran away with me and ended up far longer than I intended it to be. At least I managed to get to a point where the action starts?


End file.
